


Copperhead Kiss

by bikuai



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games)
Genre: Action, Chases, Gen, Gender-neutral Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28075947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bikuai/pseuds/bikuai
Summary: Erron chooses the wrong target and pays the price.Alternatively, Syzoth goes out of his way to protect you from a certain gunslinger.
Relationships: Erron Black & Reader, Reptile (Mortal Kombat)/You
Kudos: 12





	Copperhead Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in my drafts for well over a year, and I finally cleaned it up enough to post. In the middle of finals week too... I’m really outdoing myself.

The cool air of the night drifts in with every swing of the doors. Patrons seeking warmth enter, laughing and jesting loudly with one another. They often find a table out on the floor or come to sit at the bar. You serve them drinks, with a precision that comes from years of experience. You know most of them by name, if not all, and how they like their whiskey. You can recognize groups of friends and rival gangs alike, always quick to deter conflict. It’s hard enough having to clean vomit and spilled drinks at the end of the night; you don't want to have to mop up blood too.

Despite the hard work required, you enjoy your job. There are no surprises or uncertainties; you had seen everything the first week and had repeatedly witnessed them during all the subsequent months you worked there. You doubt there is a bartender elsewhere in Outworld that has seen the type of things you have.

As you wipe down a set of tables in the back corner, you notice a green figure slipping into the seat of a table you just cleaned. You turn to him and fold your arms over your chest.

“You come here too often,” you say, a weak smirk on your lips.

He hisses in response. “I come to warn you.”

You raise a brow at his words but make no attempt to question him. Instead, you turn back to the job at hand, picking up used shot glasses. Not a moment after you had turned away, he materializes in front of you with a stern look in his eyes. You speak before he can continue.

“Syzoth, you don't need to worry; there's nothing here I can't handle.”

“You are  _ severely _ mistaken. Someone has put a price on your head.” He lowers his voice on the second half of his sentence and glances at the scattering of patrons at the other tables. “It is best you leave town,” he says knowingly.

Some realization hits you, but your train of thought is interrupted by the call of someone across the rows of tables. You tear your attention from Syzoth.

“Can we have some more drinks over here?” Someone with a thick accent calls, waving in your direction.

You throw your wash rag down and hurry to the bar to grab a set of beers. Syzoth trails silently, his movements determined and deliberate. He didn't seem pleased by your seemingly oblivious disposition. Weaving through the tables, he hisses warnings through his teeth.

“Now is not the time to be serving drinks! Your life is in imminent danger!” His voice bleeds with genuine worry, and your heart twists in response. You hesitate and sigh but don't say anything, instead working on filling the glasses.

After, you turn and look him in the eyes. “I know what you must be thinking now, but no one in their right mind would come in here and try to kill me. I've got you and a dozen other guys who would kick the ass of anyone who tried to do me in.” You smile reassuringly and press a chaste kiss to his scaly cheek.

Syzoth growls menacingly at the gesture of affection, setting you on edge. He then eyes the door with a scowl that makes your blood run cold. Quickly, his arm grabs your shoulder and pulls you into a crouch behind the bar.

You hear the door creak over the blood pulsing in your ears. Gripping Syzoth’s arm, you silently plead with him to tell you what is happening. He puts a finger to his lips and instead nods to your right, the door leading up to your room. He gives a nudge to your shoulder, which is your cue to begin scooting toward the door as quietly as possible.

“Hey! What’s taking so long with my drinks?” A heavy fist coming down on a table punctuates his sentence. Others take notice of their empty glasses and start to voice similar complaints. The murmurs rise, filling the room like not-so-pleasant dinner conversation. The atmosphere of the room shifts suddenly as the unsatisfied patrons stand and look between one another in hopes of catching you off in the corner, wiping tables as you usually are. However, when they fail to find you among them, tensions mount and can be felt throughout the room. Soon there is yelling and arguing as the patrons suspect each other of having something to do with your disappearance.

A gunshot silences them.

“Y’all have any idea where the barkeep is?” His accent is foreign and unidentifiable to the crowd. He gets no response, tension holding everyone's tongue.

“...Yeah, where the hell are they?” The floodgates open again, and a cacophonous noise breaks the tension, sending the bar back into a heap of commotion. Glass shatters as tables are shoved to the floor.

Syzoth gives you a hard shove before camouflaging, a blur as he slips over the counter. Taking that as a cue to abandon all attempts at stealth, you scramble hurriedly for the door. Your own momentum rams you into the door, and it flings open, slamming against the wall behind. The sound of heavy wood on stone draws attention to your escape.

The newcomer is the first to dash after you, but he doesn’t get far. An invisible arm wraps around his torso from behind while another pushes him face-first into a table. Syzoth’s scaly skin fades into view.

“Do not try me, Erron,” he warns as the claws of his hand curl around the cowboy’s neck.

“I’m not here for you,” Erron manages.

The bar patrons stare, unsure who to assist. Most have put distance between themselves and the scene playing out in the middle of the bar.

At the first chance he gets, Erron shoves a boot into Syzoth’s knee then rams his elbow into his jaw, which loosens the snake-like grip. He dashes away from the table before leaping over the bar counter. The thudding of his boots as he climbs the back stairs reverberates through the wooden walls.

Syzoth shudders and gains his bearings. Fury boils in his eyes while thick venom drips from his fangs. There is no way in hell Erron is getting away with this. Camouflaged, Syzoth takes off after the bounty hunter.

Rushing up the stairs, Erron pulls out his pistol and gets ready to fire. He slams open your bedroom door, but you are nowhere to be found. Curiously, the door to the balcony is ajar, swinging gently in the wind. Erron slips through it and spies you running a few rooftops away. The wood plank and rope bridges stretching between roofs seem sturdy enough, so he takes off across them. With every step, the bridges sway uncertainly, but they hold under his weight.

Looking back, you could see the cowboy racing after you. The moonlight dances purple through his hair, and the wind tosses his crimson poncho. You don’t see Syzoth; you guess he’s too far to be of any help to you, but you hope to buy him some time by weaving eccentrically between the different groupings of buildings. You turn off the path you know and veer towards a denser cluster of different sized buildings. They seem like a promising escape; it would be easy to lose your pursuer between the ropes, awnings, and clotheslines. After taking several unfamiliar turns, you land yourself in a dead-end.

Now what? Jumping doesn’t seem like a good idea, considering the mess of animal bones in the alley below. Retreat would be next to impossible, seeing as Erron is quickly gaining on your position. You take a second to weigh your choices, and then, with the least amount of reckless flourish you can manage, you lower yourself off the side of the roof and slip in through an open window.

Though relieved at your clever evasion, you don’t want to push your luck. You close and latch the window before dashing out of the apartment. The halls of the residence are short and narrow, yet it feels like they go on forever as you weave and turn. It takes you several attempts to find the stairwell. By the time you reach the last step, you’re going so fast that you skid right past a couple carrying up baskets of produce. You stumble through the door’s archway and right into your pursuer.

Even with his mask on, you can tell he is seething. His breath comes in hard and fast pants as he pulls a gun from his holster. Shocked, you quickly try to backstep, but you trip over a cluster of errant fruits. On your back and helpless, you raise one hand in a futile attempt to protect yourself.

“P-please, whatever they’re paying you, I can give you more! I’ll double it, just please don’t kill me!” Your words come out rushed and shaky, the bitter chill of the Outworld night eating away at you.

The cowboy ponders that for a moment, tilting his head. “You got fifty thousand in coin?” He asks.

“I…yes, but I’ll just need some time to collect—”

“Wrong answer.” He raises his gun to shoot.

There’s a determined look in his eyes as he angles his shot. No way he could miss at such close range… You shut your eyes in anticipation, but the bullet never comes. Instead, there is the sound of something large hitting the dirt. Your eyes fly open to see Syzoth wrestling with the gunslinger, venomous claws embedded in the other’s shoulder. 

A gasp of pain leaves the cowboy. “Git  _ off, _ me you toad!”

Syzoth doesn’t comply, raking his talons down the other’s chest. Erron groans in agony, his resistance becoming weaker.

It’s hard to watch as Reptile raises his bloodied hand for the finishing blow. You can’t let this happen. “Syzoth, no!”

He freezes and tears his eyes from Erron to look over his shoulder at you.

Not knowing what to say, you just plead with your eyes. His eyes, attuned to the darkness, narrow at you for a tense moment. Syzoth values your safety more than anything. Those with half a mind to hurt you never get the chance. So it takes a profound display of willpower for him to stand with measured movements and take a step back from Erron. He spits a mouthful of venom.

“The Kahn will hear of this.”

You stand and dust yourself off as you begin the trek back to the bar. It crosses your mind that Erron might need medical attention, but you leave him to his own devices. Reptile sidles up next to you, fury stilting his strides. It’s hard not to notice the expectant look in his eyes.

“Thanks for, uh, saving me. You didn’t have to do that.”

He flicks his forked tongue like a snake, eyes flitting furtively over the narrow street. “It’s nothing.”

You hardly think clawing into someone's flesh is nothing, but voicing your protests requires energy you don’t have. The adrenaline has drained from your system and left you sore from head to toe. So when Syzoth pulls you into alleys or ducks you behind carts as other late-night pedestrians pass, you don’t resist. His touch, though cold, is gentle and assuring. Each step is made easier by his (non-bloody) hand in yours.

The evening stroll reluctantly winds to an end as you approach the back entrance to the bar. Syzoth had told you about the commotion that took place when you were gone. Since then, you’ve been dreading the inevitable clean up. Despite the remaining hour or so of your shift, you make the executive decision to deal with the broken chairs and overturned tables in the morning. Your hand hovers over the door handle. Reptile turns to leave.

“Syzoth?” He freezes and blinks his second eyelids. Your mouth struggles to make the words. “Good night...see you in the morning?”

He nods and camouflages into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Syzoth is such an interesting character. Too bad he’s not in MK11. I miss him.


End file.
